January 24th
by Casia Gomez
Summary: John Winchester is a good father. You can see it in the way the family of three interacts on a day in 1989.


**I don't own Supernatural. Do I look like Eric Kripke? Enjoy!**

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The tired hunter gripped the wheel of the old impala tightly. Lack of sleep caused his eyes to go red, and he almost fell asleep on the way back to the motel several times. He needed to get there, though. He needed to be with his two favorite people, his sons, Sam and Dean.

John Winchester had been hunting a werewolf for the past week nonstop. He was a man with stubborn determination; no one else would get killed, no one would feel what he felt the night Mary burned on the ceiling. He had to keep hunting, not only for the Yellow-Eyed Demon, but for the sake of other people. But for now, it was time to go back to the motel room and sink into a comfy mattress. Snow piled on the windshield; he turned the wipers on.

John pulled into the icy parking lot, grabbing his duffle bag before he locked the Impala. He grinned as he spotted a snowman sitting outside the door. Usually he wouldn't want the boys going outside, but since most monsters stayed inside during the cold months, he figured Sam and Dean could go out and play. The thought of his two lively sons gave the man renewed energy that sent him into the room exclaiming, "Hey boys!" and throwing his bag carelessly into the corner.

"DADDY!" Sam and Dean yelled in unison, abandoning their game of cards and sprinting for their father. They immediately attached themselves to each of John's legs. He bent down and seized his sons in his arms, hugging them tightly with a wide smile on his stubbly face. Who knew if he would ever return from a hunt to find them missing? Or, in the boys' case, what if their dad never returned from a hunt?

When John let go of the boys, he unzipped his duffle and held a pie out. "Happy birthday, Dean. It's apple."

"Thanks, Dad," Dean grinned at the pastry. He took the pie from him and went over to the kitchen counter, grabbing a box of candles out of the drawer and poking them into the pie. He thought that this year maybe John would have given him a gun or machete, just in case something attacked. Dean knew his dad only wanted him to be prepared and protect Sammy, but he didn't want to hunt. He'd do it anyways; he loved his family.

Meanwhile, John ruffled Sammy's dark hair extending past his ears. "Better get it cut soon or people will mistake you for a girl," he teased.

Sam put his hands on his head, as if saving his hair from the cruel fate. "No!"

John seized this opportunity, grabbing Sam under the shoulders and hefting him into the air. The little Winchester yelled gleefully as his dad spun him around through the air. Sammy felt like he was flying, something that Dean had always hated and probably always would.

"The candles are lit," Dean stated. John returned Sam to the ground and they walked over to the small table which had been set with plates, forks, and glasses of milk. The three Winchesters sat around the pie stuck with ten blue candles.

John and Sam sang _"happy birthday"_ to the young Dean who blew the candles out when they finished. They quickly pulled them out before the wax ran down, and John sliced the pie into six pieces, handing a slice to their plates. When Sammy was asleep, Dean and John would be able to talk about the family business, but for now, they talked about other things.

"I threw a snowball at some guy," Dean said through a mouthful of pie.

"Why'd you do that?" John asked.

"He was scary!" Sam chipped in, remembering the snowman they'd built that day. He hid behind it when the guy, around 14, strolled down the sidewalk. He had dark hair and startling bright blue eyes that were brought out by the navy blue tie he wore.

"He was just walking down the sidewalk in a suit—what teenage guy wears a suit in midwinter?—with his trench coat open as if he wasn't cold. He had a serious look on his face, too," Dean snickered, "so I decided to get his attention since yelling at him that it was freezing wasn't doing anything. I hit him in the shoulder, and you know what he said?"

"What?" John inquired.

"'Assbutt!'"

"Language!" John put his hands over Sammy's ears, though the kid had heard dirty language used by Dean before and giggled.

"Sorry, but that's what the dude said," Dean shrugged, taking a swig of milk.

"And then Dean stuck his tongue at him," Sammy added after John removed his hands.

Their father stabbed at his pie with a fork. "You should be nicer to strangers, Dean. He could've been an angel."

Dean rolled his eyes. As if angels wore trench coats!

After they finished their pie, they took themselves to the maroon couch, stuffing fluffing out of the cushions. _Rocky_ was on television tonight, the three Winchesters sang along with The Eye of the Tiger when it came on. For a while, John bounced Sam on his knee like he was two years old again. The exhausted hunter fell asleep halfway through the movie, the last of his energy sapped by the excitement. Later, Dean carried sleepy Sammy to bed and gently laid a thick blanket over John.

Before Dean went to bed, he turned off the lights, seeing a whole bunch of symbols scribbled on the frost outside of the one window while many snowflakes fell. He walked over to get a closer look to see if they were words he recognized, but it was in a foreign language. He just shook his head and curled up next to his little brother. The symbols had been Enochian, and it had meant: "Happy birthday, assbutt. Love, Castiel."


End file.
